Afterthoughts
by Collie Parkillo
Summary: He could have anything he wants, but since when have empty shells ever wanted anything? Post-walk!Garraty. In-progress multichapter.
1. they lied i was never fixed

**disclaimer: my lack of ownership here is something you all should know by now**

* * *

"Ray, Ray..."

Her voice was like a broken-winged bird trying to get back into the air and flap blindly up. It was cracking, anxious, and somehow afraid.

Once upon a time he would've comforted her. But now? What a laugh. Raymond Davis Garraty had gone through all the medical treatment he needed and should have been fixed. The doctors had promised her that he'd be fixed. They'd said that he was just shocked, that after they were done with him he'd be back to normal again.

But the boy staring blankly back at Jan was anything but normal and fixed.

"Ray, how do you feel?"

Garraty seemed to ponder this for a few moments, then spoke slowly. "Dead. I feel dead."

"No, Ray!" Jan shook his shoulders, like she was trying to get some point into his head and somehow words just weren't doing it. His eyes looked empty and she found herself biting back tears. "You're alive!"

Garraty stared off into space, his eyes not really focusing on anything. "Yes, I suppose I am." Sadness washed over his face in the place of the empty expression. "And they're all dead. Abraham, Collie Parker, Baker, Stebbins. All dead. Every last one of them."

"But you're living!" Jan grabbed him by the arm, pulling him from the drab, white hospital lobby and into the hallway. "They don't matter, Ray, because you're alive!"

"What did you just say?" Garraty's eyes narrowed.

The anger on Ray's face made Jan's voice start jumping around from topic to topic, just desperately trying to get around making him any angrier. "Oh, the doctors said they'd...said they'd..." It was hard for her to say, because being told that he was supposed to be fixed was unlikely to make Ray any happier. It made him sound like a broken machine, anything. "Better. They said they'd make you better."  
Garraty's eyes narrowed. "You tell me that you want to make me better, and then you tell me that they don't matter?!"

Jan sniffled, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. They walked out of the hospital unit in silence, Garraty not wanting to speak and Jan not daring to. This wasn't her Ray. Her Ray would've perked up right away and tried to make her feel better about the whole thing.

It was selfish, but Jan didn't know how to comfort her boyfriend and honestly, she was better at being comforted than being the comforter.

Or maybe she just didn't want to. Maybe something in her knew that this boy wasn't the one she'd begged and pleaded not to go on the Long Walk. "They gave me the wrong person, didn't they," she blurted out. "You're Raymond Davis Garraty, right? You gave me perfume for my birthday once and we went sledding last winter and-"

Garraty cut her off, turning to look at her with the blank, empty expression that seemed to have made itself at home on his face. "Yes. I'm Ray Garraty."

"Then start acting like him! Your mother's in the car, you don't want her to see you like this, do you?!" Jan's heart ached from having to play the guilt card on the boy she thought knew simple, polite things like this.

Garraty laughed darkly. "Oh, yeah. No sadness around family members. No grieving, no crying, no feeling anything but fuckin' content with what you've got. I forgot about that rule."

The silence that came after that was long and difficult. When they finally reached the car, Garraty's mother said a quick hello to her son and was met with the silence. She'd expected to hear happy chatter between Ray and Jan in the back seats, but again, she was met with silence.

The lack of noise was then suddenly broken by Garraty. "Olson was right." Jan blinked at him in surprise and was about to say something in response when he continued. "Olson was right. Love is a fake. Because it never lasts. Surgeries last and machines last, but love? Love's human and love fucking dies." He paused. "I realized it too goddamn late. I was dumb enough to love somebody and I saw them die! Love is a fucking fake!"

Garraty's mother didn't even bother to chide him for his language. Her eyes were on the road, deliberate ignorance resonating from her.

"Talk about it, Ray." Jan was pleading now. "Tell me about it. It'll help."

Garraty's voice was between a whisper and a shout, and yet it somehow embodied both of them. "You're just like I used to be. Back when I was Ray Garraty, not number fucking forty-seven."

"Ray, I love you, I'm here. It's going to be alright." She put a hand on his shoulder and he flinched away. Garraty then began to sob. It was violent, angry sound and the feeling it gave Jan reminded her of nails on a chalkboard.

He pulled out a scrap of paper from the pocket of his sweatshirt and shoved it into her hands. There was a number on it, and although the paper was crusted with dried blood and creased from being crumpled up, she could read that it was a 61.

"Do you understand now, Jan?! Do you get it?! Dead! Fucking dead!"  
"What is this?" she asked softly.

"Give it back to me," he snapped. Jan did, and her boyfriend continued crying, only this time staring down at the number with a sort of angry grief.

"We're both here, Ray." It was his mother, in that conspiratory tone that made Garraty seethe every time he heard it.

His response was harsh and to the point. "Fuck off."  
That quieted his mother, and she whispered something to herself and went back to that state of deliberate ignorance that she'd been in before. Suddenly Ray Garraty didn't want to go home, go back and sit down in his house and eat dinner and do all the things that he'd been able to do with such ease before this year's Long Walk had happened.

He yearned to just unbuckle his seatbelt and burst out of the car door. He would run and run until his lungs gave way and he collapsed on the ground. And then he'd just lie there. Lie there, on whatever cold Maine ground it was until everything was numb and he'd enter the place that every Long Walker entered right before they died.

That was what he really wanted. Numbness. In that moment Garraty realized that Barkovitch's dying wish had been the most sensible. Plastic feet. Because who wanted to feel the ground through the real thing? Reality was pain and suffering and sorrow, it was better to face the horror inside of your own head than outside where everybody could see you.

He laughed, as though he'd just figured out a great secret. Jan's eyes were almost wide with terror at the lack of continuity in Garraty's display of emotion. Anger, sadness, and now laughing. It was as though a switch had been flipped and suddenly the boy she thought she knew was turned off.

And in a way, Garraty wished he had. He wished he could just flip a switch and be back to normal. Because he knew the secret of the Long Walk, now. He was the winner. The Major would be by later to ask him about his Prize.

Winner. As though this was some sort of real victory. Ray Garraty was lost, Ray Garraty's being was dead on the road, somewhere along with McVries and Stebbins and Baker. This boy was a shell, a vessel that had dropped its cargo.

And Garraty didn't know how or why, but at that thought his lips twisted into a sick little smile.

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**another multichapter yeah okay **


	2. what he asked for

_ 2: what he asked for_

* * *

It wasn't Ray's seclusion that bothered his mother.

It was his lack of willingness to participate in any of the normal functions of life. He ate once a day, maybe twice if he was in a good mood. And he never spoke, only came down to the kitchen and grabbed something, then walked back upstairs.

Something in her hoped that The Major would open him back up again. He was a mystery man, a miracle worker, at least to the Victor. He would do whatever, at least that's what all the pamphlets had promised.

There was a loud ring of the doorbell, a screaming sound that Mrs. Garraty hated with all her being. It'd driven her husband crazy, and she'd never bothered to get it fixed. She hated herself for never fixing it in time to satisfy her husband.

"Ray!" She called upstairs. There was no answer, as usual. "Ray, I think it's The Major! Come on down!"

No response.

She sighed and made her way up the stairs to open Ray's door. It didn't have a lock on it, although she was sure that he wanted one quite badly. "Ray. Come down stairs, please."

"Why?"

Her son only spoke in monosyllables anymore. He'd been quite the talkative boy, before all this. It was funny, how her life was categorized into the Before and the After. It'd been that way when her husband had been squaded, except now that event had faded into the Before. Anytime, anyplace where Ray was happy was the Before.

"I think The Major's here to talk to you about the Prize."

"Fine."

Ray pulled himself off up of the bed, padding down the stairs like a bored cat. But even bored cats walked with more pride, more sense of self. Ray looked like he was a lost boy who'd stumbled into the wrong house.

Mrs. Garraty opened the door, peering out at The Major. "Hello, ma'am." His voice was deep and surprisingly gentle, and she had to remind herself for a moment that this was the man who'd ordered her husband shot.

"Hello," she said carefully.

Ray just stared.

"Say hello, Ray." She felt her cheeks flush, she was speaking to him as though he was a trained dog behaving badly. Because that was the only way to get him to listen.

"No." He looked up at The Major expressionlessly, his eyes glassy and unforgiving. "Why?"

"It's polite, Ray." _He's not a child. He's nearly seventeen._

"Hello, boy," The Major said, looking down at him with an equally expressionless face. "I understand that you're this year's winner."

"Yes."

"You do know that you now can have whatever you ask for?" She'd expected him to sound bored of doing it, to sound like he didn't want to...but this man was so neutrally polite that it was almost as though he knew this by heart.

"Yes."

"Ray Garraty, isn't it?"

"No."

"Why would that be, boy?"

"Forty-seven."

The Major smiled. It was a cruel, wolfish smile. "Oh," he said. "Alright then. So, tell me what it is you desire." He stepped through the doorway and into the kitchen, and Mrs. Garraty hurried him to a seat. Ray sat down in front of him, still expressionless.

They stared at each other for a long time, Ray seeming to either be deep on thought or simply unwilling to speak. When he did, it was slow and drawn out words. "A graveyard. I want a graveyard."  
"A graveyard? For all your fellow Walkers I presume?"

"Yes." He avoided eye contact with The Major, staring up at the stucco of the ceiling. "And...numbers. Paper numbers."

This was more than Ray had ever spoken to her or Jan in the last couple of weeks, and watching it almost broke her heart. "Which ones, boy?"

He got up, grabbed one of the small 'reminder' notepads on the fridge, and wrote down the numbers. They were the Musketeers, really. His group, the one he'd formerly thought to be invincible. Baker, McVries, Olson, Pearson, Harkness, Abraham, Parker. And he wrote down a number five at the bottom. He didn't know why, but something in him felt that Barkovitch deserved at least that.

The Major looked down at it dubiously. "What about the riches, boy? Don't you want the money? They all do."

"No."

"Why not?"

"I don't care."

"Why not? You can have anything you want."

Ray stared at him for a few minutes, then said, with his voice almost like a child requesting a new toy, "I want Pete McVries."

"Sixty-one?"

"Yes. I want Pete."

This time, it was The Major who stared at him, dumbfounded. Mrs. Garraty's eyes filled with tears suddenly, because leave it to Ray to request the one thing that nobody could give him back. "Garraty, listen to me. The Long Walk is not an emotional process. The Long Walk is about survival."

"No." His tone dropped a few notches, as though he was warning The Major to agree to his demands. "You can do anything, I can have anything. Give me Pete."

It was the longest sentence he'd said since returning home. The Major continued to stare at him somewhat dumbfoundedly, but he would never, ever admit to not being able to do anything. To Mrs. Garraty's shock, he said, "Fine. I'll see what I can do."  
Ray watched him warily, not moving a muscle. "Swear."

"I swear. I'll see what I can do."

"Good."

"You're an odd one, boy."

"Fine."

"Is there anything else you would like to ask for, for the moment? The Prize can be instigated at any time, if you find that there's something you want, all that you have to do is drop me a line."

"No."

The Major smiled his cruel smile again and clapped Ray on the back, causing his eyes to blow wide with the impact. "Goodbye, boy."

The moment The Major left, Ray got up and scurried back up to his room. His mother followed, and for once, it wasn't totally silent up there. She swore she could hear the sound of her son sobbing softly, and what hurt more than that was the fact that there was absolutely nothing she could do.

* * *

**(crying)**


	3. a prize for the game's winner

Ray's view of the world was cold and monochromatic.

What had once been colorful signs were now only dull, plastic reminders of the fact that he was alive, there were images on his retinas, he was here and he was now and he didn't want to be.

Maybe he'd used to like the view out of his window. Part of him recalled sitting on the ledge of it, smiling up at the stars.

Stars. Sky. _Moon_. His throat caught and he could hear Pete's voice in his head, that deep, rich, happy (oh what a wonderful word did i used to be happy was i ever really happy) voice. We'll scrape our shoe upon the stars and hang upside down from the moon.

He padded out of his room and sat on the staircase, like a small child trying to be let in on his parents' conversation. Ray's mother was pacing the floor (pacing walking walking keep walking), the phone to her ear, muttering into it worriedly and occasionally nodding.

"Really, you can do that?" she said incredulously. Ray moved down a stair to get a better glimpse of the conversation. "Isn't it..."

The phone babbled, a high-pitched, garbled version of what was probably being said, and his mother nodded and put down the phone. Ray got up from his sitting position and ducked into the bathroom so as to not have to deal with his mother.

From his reflection, he would have looked nearly normal. His eyes were a warm, chocolate brown, and showed none of the emptiness inside his head. He took a deep breath, trying to pull together some sort of recollection of how he was before (does it really even matter nothing matters nothing except to Walk just keep Walking i will not sit down not now.)

His name was Raymond Davis Garraty. He'd had Jan, a small blonde who'd loved him and kissed him (oh god love not love love is pete love is blood on the read not love never love love is dead) and had claimed she'd love him no matter what happened.

And she didn't love him anymore. No matter how many times she said she did, Ray knew that deep down Jan didn't want him anymore. And he didn't blame her. He didn't want him anymore, not really.

He looked bony and under nourished in the mirror, and what had seemed surreal suddenly just looked disgusting and revolting. Before he could stop himself, Ray's fist connected with the mirror. Shards of glass embedded themselves in his fingers and he watched his reflection shatter before his eyes.

"Ray!" His mother threw open the door. "I heard a crash!"

"Nothing," he muttered.

"What happened to your hand?" She quickly opened his clenched fist, examining his bloodied palm. "Did you break the mirror, Ray?"

"Yes."

She sighed, running her hands through her son's hair. Ray tried to jerk away (to touch to be touched even slightly just to touch hurts) "Ray, I was just on the phone with The Major. He said he's working on your Prize."

Ray looked up at her, his eyes momentarily showing some sort of hope in them. "Pete."

"He said he's working on it." His mother knelt in front of him, cupping his face in her hands. "I know you're hurting, Ray. Just like I was when your father died. But I moved on."

No. She hadn't. He remembered very clearly all the nights which he'd been able to hear her in the next room, whispering his father's name into the mirror and running her ghostly hands across his possessions, as though that would somehow bring him back from the dead. She was just like him, only he knew that he'd ruptured inside and she had unsuccessfully tried to patch it up.

"And you need to move on too." (just keep move on move along just keep walking) "Now, let's get your hand washed off."  
Her attempt at motherly concern only made the lump in his throat more unbearable. The cold water on his hand made his skin tingle unpleasantly. "Why did you break the mirror, Ray?"

"I hate it."

"Why?"

"I hate myself."

"Oh, Ray..." It was that pity that really bothered him. That need to feel sorry for him made his skin crawl. Maybe it was the fact that he didn't deserve it, or maybe it was the tone of voice that everyone seemed to take in pitying him. It was sugarcoated and made soppy up-and-downs with words and it just made him seethe.

After his mother bandaged his hand and sent him to his room as though he was a child again, Ray found himself thinking about The Major.

He was a cheat and a liar. He'd killed millions, really, indirectly. The Long Walk was a murder machine, no better than a slaughterhouse. And yet The Major never stopped.

And something in Garraty knew why. It was just as Stebbins said. A greyhound race. But humans were much better than greyhounds ever could be, and every greyhound race looks exciting and new if painted as a national event.

Garraty smiled to himself, although it was entirely humorless (just like pete's that thin stupid smirk i wanted to wipe it off his face now i WANT it i NEED it back anything please just give me it back.)

The Major could try to give him whatever he wanted, but he wasn't God. The whole rule of The Major's game was that everyone had to be human, because otherwise it wouldn't be real entertainment. No matter how televised it was, everything was all real.

He didn't know how long he spent in his room. There were knocks on the door, calls for him to just open it up and go back to being Ray again. His stomach grumbled a bit, but otherwise he felt that he needed nothing.

Ray heard sobs outside his door. His mother's, desperate, broken sounds that would have cracked his heart before. Her pleas were somewhat entertaining to listen to, he could almost see why The Major found so much amusement in the Long Walk.

"Please, Ray!"

"I'm your mother!"

"It's been two days, Ray!"

Then came the third day. "Ray, The Major's at the door!"

That caught his attention. He'd been fixated on the yellow, peeling paint of his walls for the last hour, his mind a haze of hunger and thirst. He sat up and opened the door. His mother looked like a ghost, large bags that she'd badly attempted to hide with makeup were under her eyes and it seemed that she'd aged ten years in three days.

"What does he want?"

"Says he's got your Prize...oh, Ray! _Oh, Ray!"_ She wailed, trying to take him into her arms. He fought his way out of her grasp and made his way down the stairs, still as emotionless as ever.

Two soldiers stood at the door, and a jeep had parked itself on the street nearby. The two soldiers parted for The Major, who smiled a cheap, flashy smile at Ray. "Garraty, your Prize, as requested."

The soldiers helped someone-something out of the jeep and Ray's eyes widened as his dark eyes met cobalt blue ones.

It was exactly as he'd requested.

* * *

**oooooohhhhhhh this isn't gonna work out also i like writing post-walk!garraty a lot Hey **


	4. my prize has a heart and a voice

It was all there. The soft, shaggy black hair, the high cheekbones and the strong physique were all there. Ray's mouth moved, although no sound came out, and suddenly he just threw his arms around Pete's shoulders and started to sob into the other boy's sweatshirt.

"Why are you crying?"

The voice felt somehow unfamiliar, and Ray's sobs got more violent and less coherent. Pete stood there, looking somewhat surprised that someone had just began sobbing on him and whispering his name over and over again like an incantation, like a magic spell that had finally _worked. _

Ray looked up at him with red, tear-filled eyes. "P-pete..."

The other boy said nothing, staring at him with blank eyes. He looked like Pete, had everything Pete had had (has he has he is here he is alive i am alive) and yet something just wasn't Pete.

"Ray," the raven-haired boy said slowly. It hit Ray why he'd perceived the voice was so unfamiliar. It had become a monotone, with a lack of emotion that was horrifyingly similar to his own. Icy, almost.

He didn't know what else to do, he threw his arms around Pete and began to sob violently into the other boy's sweatshirt. "Where am I?"

Garraty tried to blubber a response, and just started to sob harder. "Science is a magical thing, boy." But The Major didn't matter. The Major had never mattered (that's what stebbins thought too look what happened to stebbins.)

"You're Ray Garraty," Pete said. His voice was surprisingly flat, and Garraty pulled back from the embrace. The statement was odd, but he was willing to dismiss it for the fact that Pete was alive

"Y-yeah."

"You are...my...friend?" His voice was slight, cautious, and Ray got the sense that something was horribly, terribly wrong.

"The Walk, Pete!" Ray had an urge to throw himself at him, wanting to shake him back and forth to get that tone of voice out of him. "The Walk! You died!"

Pete turned around, his face red and angry. The Major looked embarrassed and the pair of soldiers looked as emotionless as ever. "You told me I was just injured! And the _Long Walk?!_ The fucking **Long Walk?!"**

"Ignore the boy," The Major said. "His memories are coddled. You, Peter McVries, were only nearly fatally injured and brought into government care by your family. Your family was killed in the accident which you were injured in, and you are being brought to live with your best friend." Garraty had been noticing voices more than ever lately. The way The Major's suggested so much and so little in it.

But the main thing which he noticed was the obvious; The Major was telling Garraty not to interfere with his intricate lie.

But he was Ray Garraty, and in the state he was in, lying wasn't an option. The bitter, painful truth was the only thing he could really face anymore. Lying had been textbook easy before, really, everybody had lied in the Before. But now somehow it'd been programmed out of him.

(because seeing people i care about killed with the humility of dead pigs really does take the fun out of playing pretend doesn't it)

Pete was arguing loudly with The Major, interspersed with short, profane phrases. But what was missing was the overly cynical mockery of the government, of love, of life in general. That was what had been Peter McVries. Casually sliding philosophy into conversation in the form of cracks about The Major and his mother.

And then it hit Ray what was off.

The scar was missing. The long, jagged scar that had graced Pete's right cheekbone had been sewn up. There was evidence that it'd been stitched up medically, but only if he squinted hard. Otherwise, the skin was blemish free.

This was Pete, but cleaner. Pete, but more obedient. Pete without the inconsistencies in The Major's idea of a perfect citizen. He had no clue how they'd brought Pete back, he'd seen all the ads about the miracles of the government's scientists, but nothing like this.

"Why don't you two go up and rekindle your friendship?" The Major's voice didn't waver a bit. (to rekindle as though it was ever really out fires go out but lives lives can't_ pete_ can't pete is untouchable i am untouchable no one can really die in my life we all live)

Pete muttered something and the pair of them made their way inside. Ray's mother's mouth was agape, and she reached out to touch her son, only to have him jerk away. (jerk what a horrible word)

"What did he tell you?" The joy and excitement that had momentarily filled Ray had been replaced with something akin to disappointment.

Pete grinned feebly. "You're my best friend. I had a girlfriend I broke up with. I dunno." The self-deprecating grin looked somehow less Pete-like without the scar along his cheek, and Ray cursed himself for thinking like that. Because he had Peter McVries back. He had the boy who had somehow become all that he ever wanted back. Alive.

It should have felt like a miracle. Instead Ray really just felt a hole in his chest.

When they reached Ray's room, Pete made himself comfortable on the bed. It was funny, the way he seemed to mentally circle where he was going to sit down (no not _sit down_ just stop just momentarily not sitting down he is_ not_ sitting down pete is here pete is now) as though he was a tired cat.

"So," Pete said. "I'm really fucking confused." There was a smile on his face, a naivete that Ray had never expected to see in his friend. Naive. He was docile and naive now. Because that was how The Major wanted him.

"They lied to you," he said flatly. "You're a Long Walker. I...for my Prize...I wanted..." Ray trailed off, somehow not able to find the words.

"Me? Aw, hell," the other responded. "That's cliché." He expected to hear the sentence punctuated with something about The Major, but none came. Silence had never been as annoying and unwanted as it was now.

There was just this unwavering need to do something. Even if it was the smallest, most insignificant touch, something needed to replace this uncomfortable silence.

While Ray had been pondering this, Pete had been staring up at the ceiling with a somewhat dumbfounded expression. He noticed the way the scar was still there, really. Sure, it was covered up, re-stitched in attempt to make the skin look normal, but it was still there.

"I was dead." Pete's voice was broken, almost the way Jan's had been when she'd found Ray in the beginning of what was the After. It seemed like years ago, almost.

Ray gulped. "You...you...sat down." The first words were hard to say, but then they came streaming out of his mouth. He had intended to only tell Pete how he died, but then it all just spilled out. Baker (honest and pure and good baker), Stebbins (mystery to this day), Barkovitch (i am so sorry i really am i am sorry barkovitch), Parker (leather jacket hero oh how i wish you'd just stayed home), Abraham (not as obsessed with unity as his namesake), all of it just came out of his mouth.

And Pete listened. Pete watched his face with those dark blue, curious eyes, and only listened. And he'd finished speaking, Ray found himself not being so uncomfortable with silence.

* * *

**post-walk!garraty and resurrected!mcvries make me really sad. also, next chapter will have lots of jan because hell yeah i actually know where this is going now **


	5. the way things were is not how they are

Ray had to wonder if Pete would have wanted to be free of the jagged, pale pink scar on his cheekbone that had been given to him by an angry, greedy girl, or if he would have wanted to keep the memory of the incident, of the way rejection had felt not just emotionally but the physical pain along the edge of his face.

He suspected the latter, because even the way he was now, Pete still had that metaphorical 'BEAT ME HARD' sign tied around his neck. Even now, the inquisitive puppy look in his pale blue eyes and the hopeful way his lips were turned up still said 'BEAT ME HARD.' (beat me hard because i don't know any better beat me hard because i will not say no)

Ray let out a long sigh. "Don't take this personally, but..."

Pete watched him, still inquisitive and bright looking. "What is it?"

"I'm starting to wish..."

He looked into Pete's expectant, alive face and was suddenly overwhelmed with love. He loved this boy, loved him when he was angry and yelling at the blank-faced soldiers (loved him when his face was contorted and his eyes were blown wide) and loved him when he placed a hand on his shoulder and pulled him away from the stupid decisions he'd made that had lead to him winning (loved him when he smiled and sat down and then his body was on the road)

"Nevermind, actually."

"I still can't believe I was in the fucking Long Walk."

"You really don't remember any of it? Anything at all?" Ray's mind wandered back to the Walk, to that thin half-smile Pete had had and would you let me jerk you off (did i say yes i said yes didn't i why didn't he i wish i had).

"Little bits and pieces. It'll probably come back to me." He smiled forlornly. "Why, anything important happen?" The way his voice hitched made him think of the old Pete, the way everything he said sounded like he was making some sort of sick, self-deprecating joke.

"Yeah," Ray said, shifting slightly on the bed. "I missed you, you know," he said lamely. He noticed that his voice was cracking slightly on the words. (oh i am pathetic)

"Let's not turn this into one of those old movies where they confess crying and kiss and then the credits roll and your girlfriend's face is still glued to the screen while you just want to get the hell out of there."

Ray was about to reply when a knock on the door caused both him and Pete to look up sharply. It was his mother, staring down at her feet with the guilt of a little girl who stole from the kitchen. "Ray, Jan's here...she wanted to...apologize...and..."

"Your girl?" Pete turned to him, and Ray was suddenly infuriated with Jan, infuriated with how she interrupted them, because she didn't need to apologize because she didn't matter. (that's not what i would have said before)

"Used to be."

"Fuck girls," he said, almost under his breath. "I had one once. She tore me the hell apart. They're not worth it."

"Ray..." Every time his mother said his name, it sounded more and more like the kind of whisper you'd hear in a haunted house, the hissing of the wind in the trees when you think it's saying your name. "Ray, come downstairs, please, Ray, please..."

"Don't beg...mom." The fact that he punctuated that sentence with mom gave him a pang in his chest, the kind of nostalgia that old men whose wives have died feel when seeing their clothes go to charity. His mother stared at him, her eyes wide and confused and her face gaunt. "I'll come. Come on, Pete." He allowed himself a small smile.

The other boy got up and for a moment Ray considered slipping his hand into his, but he was already making his way down the stairs before he had the chance to. (i want to touch him i want to feel him i want to know that he's real and that he's mine)

Seeing Jan standing in the doorway with her long, golden hair and her downcast eyes made him feel sick with guilt all of the sudden. Something in him had suddenly began to remember, to remember what it had been like to be Raymond Davis Garraty and something in him was beginning to miss it.

"Jan."

"Ray," she shot back. "Ray, I wanted to say...well, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I yelled. You were right, I didn't understand." The evenness in her voice and the way she spoke to him as though he was an idiot brought back that burning, irrational anger at her.

"You don't."

Jan's eyes traveled to Pete, who'd been standing awkwardly behind Ray and his mother and taking in the details of Jan. "Who's that?"

"My prize," he said, with sudden, surprising possessiveness. (he is a person not a possession but he is my person no one else can have him now) "Pete McVries."

"The boy from the Walk...The Major can't have...he didn't...that's not possible." Jan's voice was suddenly tight. "It must be a different guy, Ray. You're not going to buy this, are you? The Major's just trying to get you to like him."

"No." Back to monosyllables and one word answers. It'd been different with Pete, easier to talk, but Jan brought back that sad, defensive mode that he'd been stuck in since coming out of the clean, white hospital.

"You can't bring the dead back."

"The Major can do anything." (stebbins would have agreed stebbins would have said that the major can break you into pieces in a split second stebbins was a mystery would the major bring back _stebbins_) "Jan, I couldn't care less about how he brought him back, I'm just glad that he brought him back." He was practically snappy, an irritation that he usually reserved for his mother had crept into his voice.

Jan sighed. "Well, I'm glad you're happy, frankly." Her softspoken, muted demeanor was the one that Ray wanted to see most on her. Not angry, defensive Jan, but Jan who nodded and agreed that she didn't understand. He didn't know what previous him would have thought of her like this, and all of the sudden he had an urge to just forget about what previous him would have done or said.

Because he was not who he was before, and it didn't matter who he'd been before. He was this boy now, whether this boy was an imposter in Ray Garraty's pure and sweet and innocent skin or not. And he would not go back to being the way he had been.

He noticed that while he'd been going through this internal monologue, Pete had been introducing himself to Jan, smiling pleasantly and shaking her pretty little hand. All in politeness, although Ray watched for any sort of romantic attraction between the two.

"Really, Ray, if you ever need to talk to anybody..." She placed a hand on his shoulder and he felt like batting her away, but instead he stood as still as he could and tried to just shut her out of his world view.

"I won't need it," he said quickly.

"I might." Those sad, downcast, guilt-inducing eyes again.

It hit him that she was trying to make him feel that. She wanted him to feel bad for her. She wanted him to come crawling back into her arms and kiss her and hold her and love her the way he loved Pete. She was jealous, surely, that was it. (because pete is mine mine mine mine) She was babbling away about something, false comfort lacing her words, and he felt his face redden with anger.

"See, I just-"

Ray slammed the door in Jan's face.

* * *

**garraty has become kind of a yandere okay**

**also my paragraphs have started getting longer and i don't know why **


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